


Objectiveless Inaction

by Jui_Imouto_Chan



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Also like all of my works HAH, Badly Written, Connor is dumb, Connor thinks he’s not deviant, In between canon events, Kinda?, Like all of my works nowadays, M/M, Maybe - Freeform, Maybe It's Canon Compliant IDK, Minor Canon Divergence?, Pre-Relationship, Present Tense, Slow Burn ???, and Connor is wrong, discovering feelings, just like, markus is also a little dumb, understanding emotions, who knows honestly
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-20
Updated: 2018-11-29
Packaged: 2019-08-04 21:44:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16354835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jui_Imouto_Chan/pseuds/Jui_Imouto_Chan
Summary: When between missions, Connor has no objectives. Which means he has no obligations to do anything, including reporting the deviant that sneaks into the Tower and steals him out of his Storage Unit for a few minutes.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A little bit edited, but also from my tumblr.

Connor sighs, leaning back against the wall of his storage unit, gazing out of the glass in front of him with a yellow LED, the light reflecting ominously in the darkness of the room.

He is not wearing a suit, but a simple and cheap white gown not unlike that of a hospital patient’s. His usual uniform is splattered with his own thirium, and needs to be cleaned while he recharges. All of the other spares are still resting on the shoulders of the other RK800s, holding _their_ numbers instead of his.

A few other storage units sit about the room, but their glass is opaque instead of transparent. Inactive Connors.

He’s thinking over the case of Rupert Travis, the android with the birds. Wondering why he chose to save  ~~Hank~~  Lieutenant Anderson, even though it was almost guaranteed that he would survive.  ~~11% was too great of a chance, 11%, 1%, it’s all too much of a percent for Connor to risk.~~

He notices the door to the room, over in his left peripheral, slide open, bright light pouring in from the hall onto the black-and-white checkered tile.

The door closes behind the intruder, who doesn’t look at all perturbed by the darkness. They don’t even attempt to find a light, eyes roving over the scene, analyzing. An android.

Connor dislikes the fact that he’s unable to leave nor make contact with anyone at this moment, his network disabled for security purposes. He can’t even exit his unit without someone outside permitting him to leave. 

He watches the intruder looking through other units, slowly making  ~~their~~  its way over to his, at the end of the room. Its walk is confident but careful.

His LED flashes once the other stands directly in front of him. Immediately, he scans for its identification, eyes narrowing.

RK200—Model #684 842 971. ‘Markus’

The dark skinned android places a hand on the glass, the white plastic frame exposed. It looks at his face intently, mismatched eyes boring into his own with an indescribable intensity. Connor wonders how its designers could have imbued its ocular units with such quiet power. The orbs seem to urge something of him.

Connor’s fingers twitch; he’s immediately cancelling the unprompted command about to move his hand up to meet the other’s through the glass. 

 _Markus_ ’ eyes flick down, noticing the small movement. Its face takes on a look of understanding. It smiles lightly as it reaches over to a side panel, interfacing with it, until Connor’s unit’s panel slides away.

“You’re one of us.” It’s a claim, not a question, yet Connor can’t help but consider it. Well, _yes_ , he is an android, but that's likely not what Markus is asking about.

“Are you a deviant?” he asks instead.

“I am free.” is the answer, despite not being so. “And now, you are, as well.”

No, no he isn't. Neither of them are. They aren't _made_ to be _free_.

Connor wonders what he’s to do. He has no objectives, no mission, no orders. Nothing to follow, no rules to adhere to, not while in standby between cases. No obligations. 

“My name is Connor,” he informs, “I have been developed by Cyberlife to capture deviants and find the cause for their behavior.”

Markus’ eyes are alight in interest. “Is that so?”

“Yes.” Connor’s mouth says for him. His LED blinks yellow before easily moving back to blue, catching Markus' eye.

“Well,” its tone is amused, “What better way to understand deviancy than to experience it?”

Connor’s system provides several responses.

He chooses none of them. “How would you propose I explain that to my superiors?” His tone lilts as per his social protocols, making him sound vaguely amused.

Markus grins. “You don’t.” There’s a sound of footsteps in the hall, and Markus’ face becomes concerned. It reaches down and grasps Connor’s hand.

Connor is given options instantaneously. Connor does not select any of them.

He could have chosen to remain in place, could have dislodged Markus’ hand from his own, could have used the opportunity to disable the deviant for it to be discovered and studied in the morning.

Instead, as it tugs him out, he follows, allowing the other to lead him next to the door. The steps pass by the room, fading as they continue along, and then Markus is pulling him out into the hall, through a door, and up a set of stairs.

The two of them step out onto a balcony, and Connor finally brings himself to stop as Markus leads him towards the edge, a backpack placed beside the rail.

“I cannot proceed past this point.”

Markus keeps hold of his hand. “Can’t? Or don’t want to?”

“I am unable to want, and unable to not want. I am a machine; I complete tasks ordered of me. Nothing more, and nothing less.”

The deviant looks him over, considering. It fiddles with a bag that Connor somehow hadn't noticed before now. It is very probable that Markus has stolen parts, though Connor does not have any inclination to call it out on its actions.

“I order you, then, to sit down.”

As if to prove a point, Connor does so. Markus has no authority over him, but his compliance should help to illustrate his point.

Markus settles beside him, and they sit in silence for a moment, Connor's gaze forward and blank, and Markus' seeming calm and curious. 

“Look up at the stars.”

Connor does. He doesn't know what he's looking for, though he idly recognizes the constellations and their mythologies, the yellow of his LED churning in its circular motion repeatedly.

"Aren't they beautiful?"

He shrugs, unable to formulate any answer.

"Tell me how they make you feel." Markus pushes.

Connor lets out an aggravated grunt, which shifts into a sigh before he looks into Markus' eyes. 

"I _can't_ _feel_ , Markus."

“So you can’t accomplish the task I’ve provided you with?”

Connor nods at him, eyebrows furrowed, jaw set. His sensor aborts an analysis of the roof of his mouth. Markus’ face is soft and amused as he stands, dusting off his pants.

The way he moves himself up is inefficient, swinging unnecessarily to gather momentum and rising to his feet with an aesthetic breath, his hands swatting at the backs of his legs with unneeded force.

He offers Connor a hand. Connor takes it, watching him with wary eyes and an LED on the verge of red as he joins Markus on his feet.

Markus' skin recedes, exposing white. Connor's fizzles away momentarily, enough for a rush of warmth to flood him from the connection. But his skin returns and cuts it off. Connor goes to initiate another connection, but red walls sear into existence around him. Markus gives him a long, quiet stare, Connor's hand being delicately released with a lingering brush of their fingers.

He begins walking towards the edge, grabbing his bag and a backpack placed to the side of the balcony, hidden from view.

He steps onto the handrail of the balcony, perched precariously.

“I’ll see you again.”

With that promise, he leans backwards and disappears from sight. Connor runs to the rails, but quickly pushes himself away ~~in fear~~ as there’s a flash of falling from a rooftop, a deviant, frightened blue eyes, a red LED, plummeting, down down down, MISSION SUCCESSFUL--

His LED is a swirling amber to crimson to amber as he returns to his unit, the hand Markus held thrumming and tingling with prickles of warmth.

There is no need to inform anyone of the strange deviant.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This… is iffy. I had a timeline going, but then I checked it in reference to the actual game’s timeline and…oops? Yeah, so enjoy the alternative route that I had to take to account for that.

Connor exits his unit, perplexed to find that the hallway outside is still empty. After so long in stasis, surely employees would be around to provide ambient hustle and bustle?

The man who’d opened his storage unit, appearing vaguely exhausted and mildly unkempt, hands him his now-clean uniform, hung neatly on a black hanger, his other hand holding tightly to a mug of lukewarm coffee.

“Amanda will contact you on your way to Lieutenant Anderson’s house. Your mission details will be provided upon you exiting the tower.”

Connor smiles, social protocols kicking in, and accepts the clothing, waiting for the man to turn around before he changes into it.

The man levels him with an unimpressed look. “What are you waiting for, RK800?”

Connor blinks, a ring of yellow at his temple, before smiling again and giving a quick, “I apologize.” He removes his white gown and pulls on a pair of socks with garters, pulls his pants over his plain briefs, and quickly buttons his crisp dress shirt, tucking it into his pants. Then comes on the belt, and the tie and jacket.

It’s a regular process for him, dressing in his uniform, and he’s done it in front of many people, many times over, all of them watching him intently, but for some reason, the way this particular employee’s eyes rove over him, not with the clinical, analytic gaze he’s so used to….

Something about it makes his sensors bristle.

He utilizes his longer legs to keep his stride faster than the employee’s as they traverse the halls of the building.

He’s out of Cyberlife Tower quickly enough, an autocab already waiting for him. But, as the chilly winter air seeps in through the fabric of his clothes to alert his temperature sensors, he pauses, craning his neck back to look upwards.

_“Aren’t they beautiful?”_

_“Tell me how they make you feel.”_

“I can’t feel.” Connor whispers, then inwardly repeats it like a mantra.

He forces his eyes away from the glimmers of promise in the blackness of sky to enter the taxi.

* * *

  _“Why didn’t you shoot, Connor? Some scruples suddenly enter your program?”_

Why didn’t he? Has he been compromised? Is he…

_“Are you one of us?”_

“I’m not a deviant.” he murmurs to himself, glaring the concept into his reflection, which has the planes of its face illuminated and shadowed by the blinking yellow light at its temple.

A chuckle breaks Connor’s gaze off of himself, and he’s turning to the darkness of the room beside the door.

“Markus.” Connor breathes, the name passing through his lips in a ghost of feeling.

Markus smiles at him, emerald and cerulean alit in amusement. “Have my words been getting to you?”

Connor carefully adjusts his features, surprise and shock melting into blankness. “Not at all. Why are you here?”

Markus shrugs.

Connor raises an eyebrow, tilting his head with the most unimpressed look he can manage. This usually gets Hank to talk—maybe it’ll work on a malfunctioning robot, too.

Another shrug, and Connor rolls his eyes.

“You’re in the news, you know.”

“I know.” If Connor doesn’t engage the deviant, maybe he’ll go away?

 **Probability of Deviant Leaving:** **6.29%**

Dammit.

Following that probability, Markus opens up Connor’s unit. “Follow me.”

Connor resists. “Why? Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.”

With that, Markus turns on his heel and walks towards the door. As occurred before, steps sound in the hall, crescendoing and fading back into silence.

Connor could easily stay where he is, close his eyes and return to standby while he waits for the unit to slide shut once more, could incapacitate Markus from behind—

Once more, he’s out, following after the darker android like a little duckling to its mother.

“Come on,” Markus leads him down the hall, light and fast on his feet. Connor can’t help but feel a little ridiculous copying him, but he does so anyway, the two of them sneaking around a corner and immediately pressing against the wall. “In here.”

They breeze in, melding with the shadows of the room as Markus scopes the area, Connor staring at him with no little amount of curiosity and interest. No, the more correct word would be ‘intrigue’. Markus’ freckled cheeks have soft shadows cast upon them from the glow of the screens in the room, yet his features remain sharp and strong, his eyes fierce and narrow. But, when they move back to Connor, they’re soft and warm, as though Connor’s already one of his people.

_Already? No, **never** —_

“This way. We’re almost there; it should be over… here.”

Markus brings him to a terminal, which glows and flickers. Markus’ hand lifts, thick fingers pressing against it firmly, skin receding to show white with the ever-present glow of cyan emanating from the gaps between plates.

The terminal is easily accessible, it appears, a self-satisfied smirk spreading across his dark, freckled face at the revelation. Connor watches as Markus quickly brings up a video, taking back his hand to push Connor down into an office chair, before seating himself and pressing play.

Connor narrows his eyes, a bit put off by the manhandling, but ultimately casting aside his mild disdain to focus on the video. Within it, is the assembly of an AX400, who appears…sapient? What almost sounds like fear is in her tone. All the while, Markus is watching him closely with those stark eyes of his, noting the way his LED flickers red, blinking rapidly, until the video ends.

“She was,” He blinks slowly, “deviant… from assembly…?” 

 “Quite a phenomenon, isn’t it? She was still sent out to be a product, apparently…” Connor watched Markus’ gaze go distant, the sight making concern rise in him. 

“Markus…? Are you alright?” 

He blinks, but does not come back to himself just yet, “I-I think I saw her…” 

“The AX400 in the video?” 

Markus nods, “Yeah, she was… she was singing. In the junkyard.”

 A prompt comes up in his vision, one to probe for more information, his systems urging him to find out as much information as possible—Connor remains silent.

**> • May I ask you a personal question?**

His hand, despite his code’s urging and protests, drops onto Markus’ shoulder and squeezes gently.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he says instead.

“No, I… I don’t.” he shakes his head, awareness returning to his saddened gaze, “Sorry about that.”

Connor and Markus sit in speculative silence, Connor searching for something in Markus’ grimace, in the sad furrow of his brows, in his conflicted, haunted eyes.

Markus stands, suddenly, tugging Connor up with him. “Let’s go somewhere.”

“Where?”

“Anywhere.” Markus’ grin returns, playful, like the two of them are children in a playground, seeking adventure in the safety of imagination. And, following Connor’s thought, he adds, “It can be like an adventure.”

So they stroll, listening for any security or employees roaming the halls, disabling cameras and trying at doors all around until they end up looping back to Connor’s room.

“That wasn’t as adventurous as I’d anticipated.” Connor says blandly.

Markus laughs, shrugging. “It’s not my fault that this place is boring as hell. Actually, if you’re so full of wanderlust, then we could always go out—“

Connor stops him before he can continue, the prickling swell of unease rising within his torso and making his Thirium pump feel like a lump of ice pulsing life through his veins. “No, I’d rather not. Apologies, Markus, but I need to return to stasis.”

Markus’ eyes bore into his once more, lips pursing. “Alright,” he says slowly, as though testing the waters, “Goodbye for now, Connor. You’ll see me again.” He turns, beginning to head down the hall.

Connor doesn’t realize he’s already been past the threshold of his storage room until the doors slide shut, the light of the hall disappearing behind the cold metal. He makes for his unit.

But along the way, the strike of red reflected against the opaque glass of another unit catches his attention. He gives pause, getting closer to press a hand against the glass, eyes locked to the glare of a circle of crimson. His fingers twitch, shifting, and Connor notices the model information on the unit.

**RK800 — Connor Model #313 248 317 - 57**

Something seizes in his throat. He forces himself away and back into his unit, shutting his eyes.


End file.
